


Just Before the Dawn

by missselene



Series: The Night Is Darkest Just Before the Dawn [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Developing Relationship, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Don’t copy to another site, Dry Humping, M/M, Masturbation, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Sex Discussion, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-14 14:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missselene/pseuds/missselene
Summary: It's been three months since Sherlock and John finally spoke openly about what they want from each other, but their relationship is still tentative as they learn to trust each other again in the aftermath ofThe Night Is Darkest.ON HIATUS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to The Night Is Darkest and will probably not make much sense on its own.
> 
> Warning for references to past physical and sexual violence.
> 
> **This work is on hiatus for an indefinite period of time. I'm sorry.**

_ Sherlock moans as the Soldier opens his camouflage trousers, revealing a thick, long cock - no underwear, of course. The Soldier’s hand wraps around his straining member and begins stroking in lazy, practiced moves, giving Sherlock a show. _

_ “Like what you see?” the Soldier asks in a breathy rumble and Sherlock nods, his eyes trained on the hard length sliding in and out of the Soldier’s powerful fist. _ He’s sweating on his bed, his own erection lying flush against his stomach, but he’s not touching himself, oh no.

_ “You want this nice fat cock in your mouth, don’t you?” the Soldier teases, and Sherlock nods, licking his lips. “You can’t wait until I stuff you full, hmm?” _

“Yes, please,” Sherlock moans, writhing helplessly as arousal pulses between his legs.

_ “Please what?” _

“Please, sir. Please fuck my mouth.”

_ “There’s a good boy,” the Soldier says smugly and yanks Sherlock’s head forward _ . Sherlock’s hand scrambles on the bed sheets until it locates the dildo he’s laid out for this purpose and  he rams it in his mouth. It’s smaller that the Soldier’s massive member but it doesn’t matter, it’s just a prop for him to suck on.  _ The Soldier’s penis stretches his mouth almost to the limit and hits the back of his throat, but Sherlock doesn’t choke, no, he takes it easily, his mouth and throat accepting this onslaught without trouble.  _ He moans obscenely around the length in his mouth, sucking hard.

_ “Yeah, that’s it,” the Soldier grunts as he plunders Sherlock’s mouth roughly. “Fuck yeah. You love this, don’t you? You love having that pretty mouth full of cock. So take it, fuck. Take it!” And Sherlock takes it, obediently, loving each hard, powerful thrust.  _ The Soldier’s strength, his dominance, the way he takes what he wants, it’s perfect, it makes Sherlock’s body thrum and burn with need as he pushes the dildo in his mouth with increasing speed.

_ “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the Soldier chants as he approaches orgasm, tightening his grip on Sherlock’s hair and thrusting even harder and faster. “Such a good boy. Oh fuck. So good for me. So good.” He groans loudly and comes, his cock twitching and spilling hotly in Sherlock’s mouth. _

“Oh, OH!” Sherlock cries out, his voice muffled around the dildo, even as his fantasy self diligently swallows every drop of the Soldier’s come. He thrashes on the bed, his hips lifting off the mattress and jerking up, searching for friction, for release that looms tantalisingly close but doesn’t materialise.

“Fuck,” he sighs as he collapses on the bed, feeling an unbearable mixture of arousal and frustration. He was so close, he almost came without any sort of direct stimulation.

“ _ You were so good for me,” the Soldier tells him breathlessly, pulling his spent cock out of Sherlock’s mouth. The bitter aftertaste of his come on Sherlock’s tongue is maddening. “You almost came just from that, didn’t you? I think you’ll manage it next time, won’t you?” _

“Yes,” Sherlock sighs. “Yes, sir.”

_ “But for now, I think you’ve earned a little reward. Do you want to come?” _

“Yes! Oh please, sir!”

_ “Very good. But remember, no touching your cock or your hole.” He hands Sherlock the small vibrator Sherlock got from Patrick and Sam as a Christmas present. “Only your perineum.” _

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock agrees eagerly and grips the vibrator, bringing it between his legs immediately. He pushes it behind his balls and switches it on, moaning in relief at finally having some sort of stimulation.

_ “There, does that feel goods?” _

“Yes, ooh, hnnng!” Sherlock presses the vibrator harder against his sensitive spot, his hips rocking forward. He’s so hard he could burst.

_ “But not as good as my cock in you would feel, hmm? Or my fingers, my tongue? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, if I spread your gorgeous arse open right now and ate you out?” _

“Hnngg! Yes! Please, ooohhh,” Sherlock cries out, imagining the feel of the Soldier’s tongue lapping at his furled opening, licking him open, fucking him with his tongue. He increases the vibration setting, crying out at the spike in sensation.

_ “I’d open you up with my tongue, get you nice and wet and ready, and you’d be gagging for it, begging me to fuck you, and I’d take pity on you.” _

The two scenarios play out at the same time, the Soldier teasing Sherlock with what he would do and actually doing it, grabbing Sherlock’s hips and pushing his cock into Sherlock’s willing body.

_ “I’d fuck you so hard, because that’s what you need, isn’t it? A good, hard fuck. You’d be screaming, begging me for more, and I’d give it to you.” _

“Yes! More! Oh please, more, harder! Fuck! Harder! Ah, ah, ohhh!” Sherlock howls as he dials the vibrations up to the highest setting.  _ He can feel the Soldier’s thick girth inside him, stretching him wide open, stuffing him full and impacting his prostate with every thrust, sending electric shocks of pleasure down his every nerve, each push sending him closer to the edge. _

_ “I’d pound your tight little hole so hard but you’d keep begging me to go harder because you  love it, you love taking my hard cock, screaming for more.” _

“Yes! Yes, YES! More!”

_ “And then you’d come, completely untouched, just from the feeling of my cock inside you.” _

_ The Soldier rams into him hard and fast, each push of his hips punctuated by a deep grunt and a slap of his heavy balls against Sherlock's arse, increasing in speed and force until Sherlock’s entire frame is shaking and so is the bed and the room and world--- _

“OHHHH!!!” 

His orgasm explodes out of him and he can’t stop himself, the hand that isn’t pressing the vibrator to his perineum as hard as possible flying to his spurting cock and stroking roughly, increasing and lengthening his climax. He throws his head back and doesn’t hold back as he cries out his pleasure. “ _ Yes, John! Ohhh, oh, hmmmmm! Ahhh.” _

His body sags into the mattress as the last aftershocks ebb away, sweaty and spent as he switches off the vibrator.

_ “You were amazing, love,” John murmurs to him, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “Rest now.” _

He waits for his breathing and heart rate to get back to normal, savouring the way satiation spreads through his body. He knows he doesn’t have much time, but he stays in bed as long as he can, basking in the afterglow, until he forces himself to his feet and pads to the bathroom.

He replays the session in his mind as he showers, storing it appropriately in his mind palace and updating his statistics. It’s been over three months since he and John reached their agreement, and a month since they officially entered into a romantic relationship, but there has been no sex so far, so Sherlock has been using his celibacy as an opportunity to delve more into his own sexual preferences and needs. He’s current experiment involves attempting to learn to get himself off using only his mind, without touching himself in any way. He hasn’t achieved it yet, but he thinks he’s on the right track.

He’s had very good results so far with the character of the Soldier, who doesn’t have any fixed physical appearance, ranging anywhere between Daniel Craig and Idris Elba, depending on what Sherlock’s libido finds most appealing at any given point, but his permanent qualities involve dominance and firmness while always making sure that Sherlock’s getting what he wants. There’s also the Victorian Doctor, who stays fully clothed and collected while he subjects Sherlock to various “examinations” and “treatments”. There’s the Dancer, who seduces Sherlock with erotic ballet until they rip each other’s clothes off and have frantic sex on the dance floor, and the Lover, who simply worships Sherlock’s body, intent on making Sherlock feel good. All in all, Sherlock has discovered that his sexual imagination is very powerful. He’s aware that some of the things he enjoys in his fantasies would be out of his comfort zone in real life, but it’s interesting and enlightening to explore them. He sometimes finds he gets off on his own enthusiastic consent to the things that are done to him as much as on the acts themselves.

As he reviews and rates the session he realises that at some point during the second half of the proceedings he heard Jack bark from the living room but he was too far gone to care. He must have made enough noise to upset him, Sherlock surmises and blushes, stupidly embarrassed that his dog heard him masturbate. But it could have been something else that disturbed Jack, so Sherlock shuts off the water and dries off quickly, shrugging a dressing gown on to go check on him.

Jack, his black Cocker Spaniel/Dachshund mix who is objectively the best dog in existence, doesn't seem traumatised by having had to listen to Sherlock's moans or anything else and he rushes to Sherlock happily when he exits the bathroom.

"Hello there,  little bug ," Sherlock says as he crouches to give the dog a good scratch. "What happened, hmm? Were you scared something was happening to me? It's okay, I'm fine. Now, are you ready for your walk?" he asks as he stands back up and Jack's tail waggling immediately goes into overdrive. "John will be here soon, and then we'll go to the park." He checks the time, and curses under his breath. "Actually, John is running a bit late, so let's get dressed quickly, okay?"  he says, which Jack naturally takes as an invitation to get under his feet as he tires to slip into his suit trousers as quickly as possible. It's really not very practical to take his little self-care breaks in the middle of the day, but what can he do? He's discovered it's easier to deal with John being  _ unbearably attractive _ if he's had a good, satisfying wank shortly before seeing him.

It's been four weeks, three days and twenty-one hours since they officially became a couple, but so far their relationship has been very, very chaste. They kiss, and cuddle, and hold hands, and touch each other in a myriad of little ways, but that's it. And that's okay, it's not like there's any rush. They decided that even though they felt ready to take that symbolic step and start being  _ together _ , they still needed to take their relationship very slowly.  It's been good and needed to grow accustomed to each other's bodies slowly and gradually, and the prospect of sex with John still fills Sherlock with a vague sense of trepidation, but the truth is that lately it's become increasingly hard (in more ways than one) to remain unaffected by John's proximity. Sherlock's sex drive has been very active ever since he started acknowledging and feeding it, and John's frequent presence and touches and kisses and hugs and caresses and  _ I love you’s  _ haven't exactly been helping matters to calm down. Hence the necessity of strategic personal time.

He's still buttoning up his shirt when he hears the downstairs door open and bang shut rather louder than necessary, and then there are heavy, stomping footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock frowns, quickly shrugging into a suit jacket. It's John, clearly, but why on earth is he stomping around like an elephant?

"Sherlock?" he calls when he's on the fifteenth step, and that is also odd.

"John?" Sherlock calls back, feeling a bit foolish, and he strides quickly to the kitchen and opens the door to the landing. "Is everything all right?" he asks, but the answer to the question becomes obvious the moment he takes a good look at John.

John's holding a paper bag from the French bakery that Sherlock favours and that is most definitely not on John's way from the surgery. His ears are pink, his body language stilted and awkward. He made a lot of noise coming up just now, drawing attention to himself, signalling his presence. Jack's bark. The evidence is damning: this isn't the first time John has climbed the stairs to 221B today. No, he first came about half an hour earlier, before his scheduled time, when Sherlock was right in the middle of things and not being quiet about it. 

"Oh," Sherlock exhales, feeling his cheeks heat. "You, um. Heard."

John ducks his head, avoiding Sherlock's head. Clearly, he hoped Sherlock either wouldn't notice, or wouldn't mention it if he had.

"Sorry," he says, smiling sheepishly at Sherlock. "I was able to get away a bit earlier and, well. Sorry. I should have texted."

"It's fine," Sherlock says automatically, and oddly enough, it sort of is. He seems to mind John overhearing less than Jack overhearing, for some strange reason, even though he knows he’s blushing furiously. He steps aside when he realises he's been standing frozen in the door and lets John pass through to the kitchen.

It's awkward, certainly, a bit embarrassing, but on the other hand... it could be an opening. In all this time, they've never really talked about sex properly, not with respect to the two of them together. They've talked about almost everything else, alone or during their joint therapy sessions - John's abusive, homophobic father, his self-denial and rejection of his bisexuality. Sherlock's fake suicide and return from the dead, and how it affected them both. Mary. John's anger and violent tendencies and the three major instances when they manifested with Sherlock as the target: upon Sherlock's return, during the Culverton Smith case, and the sexual assault. Sherlock's self-esteem issues and feelings of worthlessness, and his gradual recovery. They have even talked a bit about Sherlock's sexual history, brief as it is, because accepting himself as a sexual creature has been an important step towards accepting himself as a person, and his journey of sexual discovery mirrored to a large extent his journey to self-acceptance and recovery. But they have yet to discuss sex as something that could potentially happen between the two of them. It's a sensitive topic, one that they've both been reluctant to broach. He knows they're both hesitant it, with good reason, but he also knows they can't keep putting it off forever, as Sherlock's libido reminds him with increasing insistence.

He decides to bite the bullet.

"Did you like what you heard?" He imagines John standing on the stairs, listening to Sherlock's unabashed cries of pleasure and growing hard in his trousers. A not unpleasant shiver runs down his spine.

John goes from embarrassed to scandalised within the blink of an eye. "Sherlock, that was a -- a very private moment that I shouldn't have intruded on. I have no business having an opinion it. Here, I brought you almond croissants." He shoves the paper bag in Sherlock's hands.

"I'm not asking for your  _ opinion _ ," Sherlock says as he opens the bag greedily -- a good orgasm always makes him ravenous. "I'm asking if you, as my boyfriend, subjectively like the sounds I make when I'm experiencing intense sexual pleasure. Surely it's not surprising I might want to know that."

John's lips press into a thin line and more colour rises to his cheeks as his left hand flexes nervously. "Yes, all right, I liked it," he grits through his teeth as quickly as possible. "Are you ready to go?" Sherlock doesn't think John's even been as eager for a walk in the park as he is now.

"Don't you think we should perhaps talk about it a bit more?"

"No I bloody don't!" John snaps, then closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. There's nothing to talk about, all right? It shouldn't have happened and it won't happen again. Now let's go, I can see Jack's dying for a walk."

Sherlock decides to let it go for now. He knows there's point trying to press the matter right now - John always clams up a bit after he does something that he perceives as a failure to keep his temper in check, even though, objectively speaking, he has been very good at managing his anger in recent months. The worst thing he's done in Sherlock's presence is raise his voice a bit, and even those instances have been minor and infrequent. John always catches himself quickly and is able to calm himself down, but Sherlock knows he beats himself up for not being always completely level-headed. And admittedly, there is still a part of Sherlock that flinches whenever it happens, despite the fact that on a conscious level he knows that there's no need.

One thing is clear, though, and that's that the times when John's self-control tends to slip are when he's confronted with his own feelings that he doesn't want or know how to address. That's nothing new, of course, but his reactions now are much more moderate and, most importantly, he's now always, without exception, willing to address it after a while, which he didn't use to be. Sherlock decides it's best to give him the time he needs to process things on his own before bringing the matter up again. He'll certainly do that, though, because if there's one thing that John's reaction proved, it's that they  _ have _ to talk about it, and they've been diligent about talking about things that need to be talked about.

John takes his hand as soon as they leave the house. It's because he feels bad, obviously, but it's still nice. Overall, Sherlock has been pleasantly surprised by John's willingness to engage in moderate displays of affection in public. Nothing major, mainly just holding hands or the occasional guiding hand on the small of Sherlock's back, but it's way more than Sherlock expected. He knows John started doing as a sort of challenge for himself, outing himself to random passers-by, but he's fairly certain that by now John simply likes doing it -- his hand in Sherlock’s has certainly stopped being overly tense and sweaty, and relishes the absolute joy of walking down the street hand in hand with his boyfriend, his dog trotting happily next to him.

They enjoy a nice long walk in Regent's Park, playing fetch with Jack and talking about nothing in particular, mainly Rosie and the fact that Lestrade is very obviously thinking about proposing to Molly. It's nice. They've spent a lot of nice and relaxing time together in the last three months, since they admitted to each other what they both wanted, but this happy time has been dearly bought with other, significantly less pleasant moments, mainly during their therapy sessions, the discussions they made themselves have afterwards to go through what transpired during the therapy session, and the "homework" Ella gave them. They decided to have their couple's therapy with Ella since she knew both of them, and although Sherlock worried she might be biased because Sherlock was her current patient and John wasn't, she has been very professional, gentle and uncompromising as needed. The sessions have been gradually getting easier, since they have now gone through all the major skeletons hiding in the closet of their past and they are better at opening up now, but a lot of it has been harrowing. Sitting in a room with John and talking about the abuse he experienced at John's hand was one of the most difficult things Sherlock has ever done, but it was necessary and they got through it by sheer force of will.

And it’s been more than worth it. They’ve learned to understand each other better, reestablish trust, rebuild their friendship. And last but not least, gathered the courage and confidence to take the first tentative steps as romantic partners. They’re doing well, Sherlock thinks. It’s not easy, but there are moments of such pure happiness and no shortage of affection. They kiss and cuddle as much as they can, and once John understood how much Sherlock loves it, he’s made a habit of stroking Sherlock’s hair and massaging his scalp, which is, in a word, heavenly. There’s no falling asleep together or waking up together, of course, because they don’t live together. John and Rosie moved out of Harry and Michelle’s house after Christmas to finally let the two women have some privacy, but they moved to a boring one-bedroom flat close to John’s surgery and not to Baker Street. Which is good, Sherlock knows that, they’re not ready to live together, but he still loathes that flat everytime John has to return to it. But other than that, he has all the little things he’s ever dreamt of in the deepest depths of his heart, little things that taken all together make him feel  _ loved _ . And perhaps the best thing of all is that he’s not the only one who thrives on their affection -- at first, John was as hesitant to bestow touches as Sherlock was to accept them, but now, it’s more than obvious that touching and kissing Sherlock and simply being close to him makes John happy too. That feeling is worth any number of exhausting therapy sessions and difficult conversations, and besides, those are getting easier too.

But they are not out of the woods yet.There's one thing that Sherlock has known in the back of his mind since the beginning, but that has now made itself clearer than ever before: it will never be truly behind them until they have sex. It's the memory of the assault that's stopping both of them, stopping them from fully acting on the love and desire they feel for each other, and they have to overcome that. There’s taking things slowly, and then there’s stalling.

Sherlock has thought about it many times, and he’s certain that John has too, but neither of us has ever spoken about it, let alone done anything. Sherlock wants sex with John, he has no doubt about that. He feels comfortable and safe in John’s presence now. The idea of John touching him intimately no longer inspires the kind of revulsion mixed with arousal he used to feel when he first came back, not in the slightest, but it’s not  _ unambiguous _ want, either. It’s want with a shadow hanging over it. That feeling, however, isn’t new to him - it’s more or less the same thing he felt before he started having sex in general - wanting it, but being scared of it at the same time. The benefit of that is that he knows how to deal with his hesitance: he just has to push through it and do it. Slowly, carefully, starting with the least threatening option and working his way up, but he has to  _ do it _ . No amount of thinking and waiting will take the hesitance away, only actions will do. The problem is that he’s not sure how to bring the actions about. He doesn’t think John will ever dare make the first move, he’s very careful about not accidentally pushing Sherlock into anything and he lets Sherlock take the lead in all their physical interactions. That’s good and necessary for now, but it puts Sherlock in the position of having to be the one who makes the first step, and he’s not sure he can. He doesn’t want to do it until he’s sure he can take it and won’t panic (that’s really what he’s afraid of: not John, not at all, but his own reactions; who knows how his subconscious will react when John touches him intimately), but he won’t know that until he does it. It’s an impasse. But maybe talking about it would help resolve it somehow.

They pick up fish and chips on their way home and eat it while watching the telly, like the old times. What's not like the old times is that when they finish eating, John puts his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and Sherlock curls up with his head pillowed on John's chest and John’s fingers in his hair. It's so lovely Sherlock doesn't want to ruin the atmosphere, but he knows he has to.

"John, about earlier..."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you," John says immediately, then sighs. "I just... it made me uncomfortable."

"I know. But I think we have to talk about it. Not - not what you heard or that you heard it, but just -- sex. Us, having it."

John shifts against him. "You don’t think it's too soon? We shouldn’t rush this."

"It’s not too soon for talking about it. We're together and neither of us is asexual. I don't think we can avoid the topic for much longer."

John stays quiet for a moment, his fingers sifting through Sherlock's hair. “I don’t know if I’m ready for it,” he admits.

“For talking about it, or doing it?”

“Both, really. You think you are?”

“For talking about it, yes. For doing it… possibly. As ready as I’ll ever be, I think. My body certainly is.”

“You really want to have sex with me?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Why do you think I make a point of masturbating right before spending an extended period of time in your company?”

“Oh,” John says, and his reaction makes it clear that he doesn’t have to resort to such a solution, that perhaps being in close proximity to Sherlock doesn’t affect him as much, or at all.

“Do you?” Sherlock asks. “Want to have sex with me? I remember you said that part of your life was over.” What if that’s it? What if John’s simply not interested in sex anymore? Sherlock would still want to be with him, there’s no doubt about that, but could it work?

“That was before we got together,” John says and he touches Sherlock chin gently, making him lift his head and look at him. “Of course I want to have sex with you,” he says looking Sherlock straight in the eye without any attempt to hide himself. Sherlock shivers. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. But I -- it’s complicated. I honestly don’t even know how to put it into words. I admit I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, just hoping it would sort itself out somehow.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “As if I haven’t learned that never works.”

Sherlock leans in and kisses him gently on the mouth. He knows that their relationship represents a different set of difficulties for John than it does for him, and he knows that John still struggles with feeling undeserving, and Sherlock can easily imagine that he feels he has no right to want Sherlock sexually.

“It’s complicated for me, too,” Sherlock admits. “But I know that I want this kind of intimacy with you.” He’s had a lot of very enjoyable sex, but he has yet to experience what he truly craves: sex as an expression of love.

John swallows visibly and closes his eyes as he brings their foreheads together, his hand gentle on Sherlock’s nape.

“Can you give me a little more time?” he asks softly. “I think I need to… deal with some things on my own before we talk about this again.”

“Of course. Are you going to bring it up with Arthur?” They both still have separate therapy sessions and John continues to be very diligent about his. 

“Yeah, I think I should, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course it’s okay with me, John, it’s your therapy session.”

“Right. Well -- I think I’d like to talk through some things with him, and then we’ll -- see. Talk about it again. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock agrees readily. Even this short conversation has been quite taxing, and he thinks it will be good for him too to have some time to think about what exactly he wants and how he wants to approach it. He kisses John again and smiles. It’s not easy, and they’re fumbling and bumping into obstacles, but overall, he thinks they’re doing fine.

“I love you, you know,” John murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over Sherlock’s lower lip. He has said this many times by now, but it hasn’t lost its charm. Sherlock doesn’t think it ever will.

“I love you too.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, that’s it.” Molly pulls off her gloves and bins them, smiling at Sherlock. “I’ll send you the results as soon as they’re ready, but don’t get your hopes up. With this level of decomposition…”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, I’m ready for a nice strong coffee now, what about you?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m supposed to meet John at home, I need to get going.” As much as Sherlock has come to appreciate spending time with Molly, John takes precedence -- especially now, when they have such important matters to discuss.

“Oh, okay,” Molly says, her face and voice carefully neutral as it always is these days when John’s name is mentioned. “Everything good?”

Sherlock knows that Molly wasn’t thrilled when she found out Sherlock and John had got together, and that she still hasn’t forgiven John. It’s okay, though -- Sherlock is fairly sure that if their positions were reversed, he would be in no hurry to forgive someone who had hurt Molly, and he’d probably be far less tactful about it. Molly doesn’t know the full extent of what happened between Sherlock and John before Sherlock left for what he now likes to call his sabbatical, but she knows enough to be concerned. Sherlock can understand that -- he can see how his choices may seem ill-advised from anyone else’s point of view, but Molly has been careful not to force her opinion on him. She asked him if he was sure about what he was doing, and when he said that yes, he was, she accepted it and didn’t try to make him change his mind. She’s never openly critical of John in Sherlock’s company, although Sherlock is fairly certain she’s given him a piece of her mind in private at some point. What she does is check in with Sherlock regularly and make sure he knows she’s there for him, without ever being overbearing about it.

(Which is more than can be said about Mycroft, who also doesn’t know the full extent of what happened, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to dictate the terms of Sherlock’s love life and threatening John with various exotic forms of torture. Luckily, Sherlock has found a way to put a stop to that, which is to start talking in explicit detail about various sexual acts he enjoys, which tends to have Mycroft sputtering and fleeing in blind panic within seconds. To think that Mycroft used to say  _ Sherlock _ was the one who was alarmed by sex, ha.)

“Very good, Molly, thank you,” he says warmly enough to show he appreciates her concern, but firmly enough for her to know there’s no need to prod further.

She smiles, and he knows she’s happy for him, that even though she has doubts about Sherlock and John’s relationship, she genuinely wants it work out, and that’s good enough for Sherlock. He’s glad to have a support network -- he doesn’t think he’ll need it, but it’s good to have it all the same.

 

The reason why Sherlock is impatient to get home is because today,  he and John are going to talk about sex. Maybe even have it. John said he was ready to talk about it again, and who knows, maybe talking could lead to doing. 

Sherlock is aware there’s a spring in his step as he walks home. He’s excited. Nervous, but excited. It’s been a week since the day John caught him masturbating and they finally broached the topic of sex, and since then, Sherlock has had enough time to think about it and determine that he really is ready. More than ready.

He’s been ready for weeks, in fact, without being aware of it, and now he’s buzzing with anticipation. He and John have been doing well these past few months, working hard and making good progress, and honestly, Sherlock thinks they deserve this reward, finally taking this last step together. A proper first time.

The odd thing is that he sometimes almost forgets that he’s already had John’s penis inside of him. He doesn’t  _ really _ forget, of course, that’s proved to be impossible, but sometimes he feels like the John who did that to him and the John he’s with now aren’t the same person, or perhaps like  _ he _ isn’t the same person it happened to. He looks forward to sex with John like anyone might look forward to their first time with the love of their life. The past is the past, but they exist in the present.

Still, though, he is very much the person it happened to and John is very much the person who did it, which is why they’re taking this roundabout way to sex. In normal circumstances, people probably don’t set aside time specifically  to talk about sex before doing it. They just do it, and figure things out along the way. Sherlock wishes they could do it like that, too, but that’s just not possible. It’s too fraught and too important to risk making mistakes. One wrong move could set them back and undo much of the progress they’ve made.

But Sherlock’s feeling positive and hopeful. So far, talking about things has helped them move forward, and there’s no reason why this should be any different. They just need to acknowledge what they want and what they fear, and Sherlock has spent enough time considering this from every angle to know what his answers to these questions are.

What he’s afraid of is that doing anything sexual will prove triggery for him, that he’ll panic even though he’s not consciously  scared. And therefore, what he wants is to make sure this doesn’t happen, which means they have to go _ slowly _ . Not to rush, even though his desire for John might make him want to. They need to start small -- handjobs and/or frottage, and progress from there. And only once they’ve become sexually comfortable with each other, once Sherlock is confident enough that he’s not going to have an unwanted reaction, can they progress to anal penetration. 

He feels a bit stupid about the way penetrative sex feels like the pinnacle of their endeavours, the final frontier, but it is objectively important. He greatly  enjoys it, for one, and aside from that… even if they were to do it just once, he feels like they have to. He  _ needs _ it, for the same reasons that he needed to start having sex at all, needed to let someone push their penis into him with his full consent. It was the only way to stop that dark, twisted time when John claimed Sherlock’s body viciously and against Sherlock’s will from still having power over them. He needs to give himself to John, completely and willingly, on his own terms.

He takes a shower when he gets home -- perhaps he’s getting ahead of himself, perhaps today will really be just about talking, but he can’t help himself. He wants it. God, he wants it so badly, wants John’s touch to be what brings him pleasure.

Eventually he has to turn the water temperature down to freezing when his body reacts to his thoughts with too much enthusiasm, but the icy shower isn’t nearly as effective as taking one look at John when he finally arrives: he looks so nervous it seems he might throw up. It was his idea to talk today, he said he was ready to talk, but it’s evident now that he’d rather be anywhere but here. Sherlock’s confidence plummets. 

“Cup of tea?” he offers, suddenly feeling completely helpless. Obviously he knew there were things holding John back, but this seems worse than what he imagined. What misgivings could John possibly have that would make him look like he was facing his own execution?

“Yeah, okay,” John agrees immediately, barely looking at him. “Wait, no. I need to get this over with.”

“All right,” Sherlock says mildly and sits down at the living room table, trying not to look too disappointed, because this is really not encouraging. John pulls out a chair and sits down, taking a deep breath in.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, and Sherlock’s heart drops even further. John’s going to say that he doesn’t want to have sex after all, or worse -- he thinks they shouldn’t be together at all. John continues speaking, stumbling a little over the words of what is clearly a prepared speech. “I know what this looks like, but it’s not what you think, Sherlock. I need you to understand that if I seem… reluctant, or not as into it as you want me to be, it’s not because I don’t want you, and it’s not because I’m still not okay with being attracted to men. That’s not it at all. I’m… my libido’s been pretty low after what I did, and I’ve got a lot of guilt and shame tied to… anything sexual, and wanting you in particular. That’s not your fault, and I don’t want to burden you with it, but you need to know.”

Sherlock processes this. He’s almost relieved it’s nothing worse -- he knows about John’s feelings of guilt, they’ve talked about them extensively. It makes perfect sense it would impact John’s feelings about sex.

“So… what does that mean for us?” he asks, because he’s not sure what John needs from him.

“It means… if we do anything, I’d need your verbal consent throughout, and tell me explicitly what you want.”

“Oh,” Sherlock says, weight lifting off his shoulders That doesn’t seem too difficult. It’s actually very much in line with Sherlock’s own needs and desires. He knows what he wants, and he actively enjoys giving consent. “All right. I can do that. Anything else?”

“Yes. I need you to promise to tell me if I do something you don’t like, even if it’s a minor thing.”

“All right, John. I promise,” Sherlock says, and John seems to deflate immediately, tension draining out of him. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you, Sherlock, for understanding. I know I’m making it all overly complicated but I just -- can’t leave anything to chance.”

“It’s fine, John. Is that all?” Sherlock asks, frowning slightly.  It doesn’t seem like much considering how nauseated John looked just a moment ago. But then again, John takes their relationship extremely seriously and is very sensitive to what he perceives as his own failings.

“From me, yes,” John says. “What about you? Is there anything you want me to know?”

Sherlock nods, straightening in his chair. “Yes. I want you to know that I trust you, John. I know you won’t hurt me. But -- I don’t know how I might react when I’m driven by instinct and not by logic, so I need us to start slow. And actually, what you asked of me, giving consent and telling you what I want, that could help with that, too. I realise I’m not known for proceeding with caution --” John snorts, and Sherlock gives him a smile, “-- but in this case, I do think that’s what we should do.”

“Of course, Sherlock. We’ll take it slow. We both need that, I think. Just -- continue what we’ve been doing all this time, right? No need to jump in at the deep end.”

“Exactly. And we don’t ever have to get to the deep end if we don’t want to,” he adds, because John, with his heteronormative lifestyle, may not be aware that penetrative sex is not in fact obligatory. “Although, for the sake of honesty, I should say I enjoy the deep end. I would very much like us to get to the deep end. I’d even say it’s important for us to get to the deep end.”

“Sherlock, stop saying ‘deep end’.”

“Sorry.” The atmosphere shifts -- it’s no longer strained. Instead, the air between them is suddenly filled with a different kind of tension.

“So, um. You… like that, then?” John asks, and there’s a new kind of curiosity in his eyes.

“Yes, John. I like penetrative intercourse, both giving and receiving,” Sherlock says explicitly, so that there’s no chance of John mistaking his meaning.

“Right. That’s… good to know.” John clears his throat. “Do you… have a preference?”

“Receiving,” Sherlock says, very aware of how significant it is in their particular situation, but not ashamed one bit of his preferences.  “But as I said, I enjoy both ways a lot.” He hesitates slightly, then asks: “And you? I mean, I know you haven’t… but do you have any experience with… the receiving end of things?”

“Not much. Just, you know, my fingers. I had a girlfriend once who was into that -- with a strap-on, you know -- but I never let her try, obviously, because a straight man doesn’t like having things up his arse,” he says with great bitterness and self-deprecation. “But I want to try it, Sherlock. I mean, only if you want to, of course, but I’d like to try..”

“Really? Because you don’t have to, John, not unless you’re sure. You don’t have to do that to prove you’re okay with your sexuality. Many gay men don’t.”

“No, I want to. I’ve been the penetrating partner all my life, I think it’s time to see what it’s like from the other side. With you. If you want that. And, um. Blowjobs, too. I mean, giving. I’ll probably be pants at it, but I really want to try.” He licks his lips unconsciously.

Sherlock imagines his cock disappearing between John’s arse cheeks, John’s head bobbing between his legs. He shifts in his seat. 

“That. Sounds nice,” he squeaks embarrassingly, and clears his throat.

“Oh, does it?” John asks, and for the first time his voice sounds teasing, flirtatious. “What else sounds nice?”

“Well. Um. I. Anything, with you.”

“Sherlock,” John croaks. “Me too. Anything with you. I want to do everything with you, anything you want. But do you… is there anything in particular you’d like to… try?”

Sherlock clears his throat again and tries get himself under control. The turn this conversation has taken is not leaving him unaffected, especially given how worked up he’d managed to get himself before John arrived. “Well, I think we should start with simple manual stimulation, but prospectively… I enjoy anal stimulation of any kind, fingers, toys… but I have yet to experience it with…” he swallows, feeling his cheeks burn, “tongue.”

“Oh!”

“But we don’t have to do that if you don’t want to!” Sherlock adds hastily, well aware that this particular act could be off-putting and perhaps a bit extreme for some people’s tastes.  “It’s just a thing that I haven’t tried, that’s all.”

“I want to,” John says emphatically.

“You do?”

“Yes! I didn’t think of it until know but oh god yes, Sherlock, I want to do that you, if you let me.”

Sherlock gulps and wiggles in his seat again, fighting against the insistent image of John spreading his arse and licking down his crack. The eagerness in John’s voice right now didn’t help matters.

“But wait… did you say toys?”

“I believe I did, yes,” Sherlock answers, struggling to stay composed. It’s getting rather hot in the room.

“You have toys?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck!”

“That’s the general purpose I use them for, yes.”

“Oh, someone’s getting cheeky! Were you using a toy the other day, when I heard you?”

“Yes.” Sherlock hesitates for a second and then decides to go all out. “I was using a vibrator to externally stimulate my prostate.”

John makes a strangled noise that sounds a little bit like a moan.

“Is that what made you sound like that? Oh my god, Sherlock, the noises you made! For a second I thought there was no way you were alone.”

“John! I would  _ never _ …”

“I know, I know. It was just a split-second thought, because you were so loud, and you sounded so wanton, I thought my knees would give out. I want to make you sound like that.”

“I want that too, John, I want that.”

“Do you need a vibrator for that, or…?

“No, I’m… rather vocal in general,” Sherlock admits. He can hear himself inside his head, moaning John’s name in ecstasy, and it costs him a lot of effort not to do it out loud.

“Sherlock, fuck, I want to hear that, all those beautiful sounds, I want to make you feel so good you can’t keep quiet.”

“Yes, John, please!” Sherlock says, and this time it does come out like a moan. He’s grown painfully hard in his trousers and he doesn’t think John’s faring much better, given his heavy breaths, his blown pupils.

“I want to worship your body, Sherlock, I want to make love to you. ..”

“John,” Sherlock gasps, nearly buzzing with arousal. “I want to touch you now.”

There silence for the space of a single heartbeat, and then John says “Yes!” and he jumps out of his chair.

Sherlock stands up hastily, knocking his chair back, and then they’re in each others arms, kissing hungrily and groping anywhere they can reach. 

“Is this okay?” John asks in between passionate kisses, his fingers tangling in Sherlock’s hair.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes before licking eagerly into John’s warm mouth as he pushes John towards the sofa. He loves kissing John -- it’s so unlike kissing anyone else (and so unlike that first, terrible time John kissed him, but Sherlock doesn’t think about that), because John kisses him like he loves him. He could spend hours kissing John -- he  _ has  _ spent hours kissing John - but not today, today, he wants -- he  _ wants _ \--

“Sherlock,” John gasps as he lies down on the sofa and Sherlock climbs on top of him, one knee on the edge of the sofa and the other between John’s legs.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock says, hearing the unspoken question hidden in his name, a question that John is always asking whenever they touch, and especially when they touch in new ways -- not always explicitly, but always asking, and Sherlock loves the feeling of his lips shaping the answer. He claims John’s mouth again and he repeats the answer with the movements of his lips and tongue  _ yes, John, yes, John, yes, John.  _ And then he stops trying to hold his pelvis up and lets his clothed erection come into contact with John’s hip.

He hums into John’s mouth at the intensity of the sensation. John smells divine, his mouth is addictive, his hands roaming over Sherlock’s burn through the thin fabric of Sherlock’s shirt, his tongue against Sherlock’s is hot and slick, his muscular thigh is right underneath Sherlock’s straining cock, providing a perfect, warm, yielding surface for Sherlock to rub against. It’s perfect, it’s just what they needed, get aroused enough to stop worrying and just let go, driven purely by instinct and want, Sherlock thinks fuzzily as his hips cant forward, and then he doesn’t think at all.

“Okay?” John asks when his hands slide down Sherlock’s back and come to rest lightly on his buttocks, the first time they’ve strayed below the waist.

“Yes,” Sherlock sighs, and John’s hands squeeze his muscles, making Sherlock’s cock press more firmly against John’s thigh. He wants to go back to kissing John, but he finds he can no longer get in enough air through his nose to do that. “John!”

“Is this good?” John asks as he kneads Sherlock’s arse, matching his movements to the rhythm of Sherlock’s thrusts. “You like this?”

“Yes -- John --  _ oh _ ,” Sherlock pants, letting his face drop to the crook of John’s neck where he breathes in the intoxicating smell of John’s skin and sweat as his hips continue to rut forwards, heat rising.

“You feel amazing, Sherlock,” John murmurs to him, turning his head to that Sherlock can feel his warm breath on his ear. “So lovely.” 

Sherlock’s whole body shivers at the praise and he feels his cock stiffen impossibly further as it seeks friction against John’s thigh.

“Ah! John!”

“Yes, my love,” John whispers and Sherlock’s heart nearly explodes. “You’re perfect, so good.” One of his hands stops massaging Sherlock’s arse and Sherlock briefly wants to protest, but then the hand buries itself in Sherlock’s hair instead, fingertips rubbing Sherlock’s scalp with just the right amount of pressure, and Sherlock nearly blacks out. He whines against John’s shoulder and his hips start thrusting even harder, the pace frantic now. “That’s it, love. You’re nearly there, aren’t you? You’re so good. Go on, just like this.”

“ _ Uhhh! Uh! Ah!”  _ John’s words are too much, and his tone of voice, and his smell in Sherlock’s nostrils, and his hand in Sherlock’s hair, and his other hand on Sherlock’s arse, and his warm, strong body underneath Sherlock’s, and the pressure building in Sherlock’s groin, it’s all too much, it’s unbearable and he wants more of it, oh god, he needs more of it, more,  _ more, more, yes, John, yes, please, yes YES--- _

“Just let go, love, I’ve got you.”

_ YES!!! _

He groans something unintelligible and _ comes _ , his hips jerking frantically as his release spills hot and wet, again and again and  _ oh, again _ , seeping through his pants and draining his body until finally, he stills.

He’s boneless and sated, comfortable against John’s body as his breathing calms down. He’s just had a thoroughly satisfying orgasm in John’s arms, in the arms of  _ the man he loves _ , and at no point was he even close to panicking. He smiles loosely to himself. He’s just come in John’s arms, and John… John hasn’t.

In fact, John was never even hard.

The realisation comes crashing in, sucking the post-coital warmth out of Sherlock body within the blink of an eye. Sherlock should have felt John’s erection, but he didn’t, and he was too out of his mind with lust to notice. He was happy to rut against John like an animal, concerned only with his own pleasure, not caring about anything else.

“John,” he exhales as he lifts his head to look at John, feeling utterly ashamed of himself. He rushed this. John wasn’t ready.

“Hello there, love,” John beams at him. “All right?”

“Yes, but -- you…” Sherlock stutters

“I’m fine,” John says lightly, gently brushing Sherlock’s hair from his forehead. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But you didn’t -- you aren’t --”

“Yeah, sorry,” John murmurs and bites his lips in embarrassment. “I probably should have warned you about that. I - I sometimes have a bit of… trouble, er, in that department. Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it, though.”

John’s now fully red in the face, but it still takes Sherlock’s sex-addled brain a moment to process his meaning.  _ Erectile issues.  _ Oh.

“But you wanted it?” Sherlock asks, needing to be certain.

“Yes, Sherlock, very much. And I loved every second of it, you were phenomenal. This just -- happens, sometimes. Or rather, doesn’t happen,” he amends, laughing awkwardly.

“Oh.” Sherlock doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to make John feel bad, but he also can’t quite stifle his disappointment. He’s becoming unpleasantly aware of the congealing stickiness in his pants. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“I need to… um. Bathroom,” Sherlock mumbles and flees the scene.

This is not how Sherlock hoped it would go, he thinks as he peels off his soiled pants and trousers in the bathroom. He had anticipated that their first time would be awkward and far from perfect, but he thought it would be mutual, not Sherlock mindlessly humping John’s leg like an animal and coming in his pants within minutes while John failed to get an erection.

John did say his libido was low now, so perhaps Sherlock should have expected something like this. Perhaps there’s bound to be a certain… imbalance. But it’s a bit of a blow to the ego, and honestly, it’s embarrassing to know that Sherlock was the only one out of his mind with desire. It’s one thing to give in to his base urges while the person he’s with is doing the same, and quite another to do it with someone who remains unaffected. It felt amazing in the moment, but now, the whole experience has left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Maybe Sherlock just rushed into it, despite his resolutions. He just gave in to his arousal and didn’t think to pay attention to John until he’d got off. 

He changes into clean clothes and finds John waiting for him in the kitchen, two steaming cups of tea on the table. He looks about as embarrassed as Sherlock feels.

"All right?"

"Yes, but I'm -- sorry I got so carried away. I should have been more considerate.”

"Sherlock -- it’s fine. I liked that you got carried away. I enjoyed myself. Immensely." He steps closer and gently cups Sherlock's cheek. "I felt so proud that you let me experience it with you, Sherlock, you have no idea. I’m sorry that I couldn’t…, but it was still an  _ amazing _ experience for me. And I thought -- this was good as far as starting in the shallows goes, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock admits. They both remained fully clothed, so this is indeed the smallest first step they could have taken. And John seems very sincere -- perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Things like this  _ happen _ , after all. Sometimes only one partner gets off, and it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong.

“Are you all right, really? Was it -- was it okay?”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Well, yes,” John admits with a small smile. “But now? You don’t regret it?”

Sherlock takes a moment to scan his emotional state -- no, he doesn’t regret it, even though the aftermath was not as satisfactory as he could have hoped. Everything about the encounter itself was good, and the way John spoke to him, the praise and love, that was everything Sherlock could have wanted and exactly what he needed.

“No,” he shakes with head firmly, “I don’t regret it. As you said, it was a good starting point, and I enjoyed it. The -- the things you were saying. Those were… good. Very good.”

“Yeah?” John gives him a pleased smile. “I’ll remember that for next time, then.”

Next time, Sherlock thinks. Yes. So what if their first time wasn’t perfect? That’s normal. They have plenty of time to improve, find their footing. John’s libido can’t lie dormant all the time, and perhaps this one-sided encounter will have helped it wake up a bit, and the next time they do something, it will respond. And Sherlock won’t lose control of himself so quickly, he’ll make sure that John is enjoying himself too.  It will be fine. They’ll get there.

“You do that,” he murmurs, and leans in to press his mouth to John’s.

  
  
  
  



End file.
